The Alleyway to Internal Peace
by My Only Sunshine
Summary: A revised version of Charred Pages at the Sunshine Cafe. Same characters, but hopefully better giving that now I have more experience writing. A man on a train meets a mysterious lady with quite a past, a past she doesn't remember.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Numair, and possibly another character.**

Chapter 1

The door slid open with a whoosh of air. Numair picked up bags and stepped over the gap between the car and the dimly-lit platform, into the train compartment. He paused for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bright light inside. A few people were in the cart already: a woman who appearing homeless, wearing many raggedy layers and with several paper shopping bags gathered at her feet, a sallow-skinned teen with several piercings and tattoos, head banging with closed eyes to loud punk rock, a business man with an exhausted air, and a black college student who appeared asleep.

Numair trudged over to a set of empty seats near the back. He opened the overhead cabinet with such force that the college student jerked with the noise. She leaned toward the window and fell asleep. Numair glanced around apologetically and embarrassed. The punk continued to head bang, the business man stared, aghast and the bag lady began to snore. Numair stared at the business man until he uncomfortably cast his eyes down and twitched his head away.

Numair fell into the cushioned seat and propped his feet one the vacant chair in front. He sighed as he thought about his life. Being a professor wasn't so bad, and it paid well. He had knowledge advanced far beyond his years: several of his students at the college where he taught were older than him. He could afford a nice penthouse and the organic food and exotic ingredients he required. But he felt dreadfully unattached. He wandered through his days, through life, in a way that could be described as gazing on a foggy field, a few trees scattered throughout. Mentally, he corrected himself. It was not the feeling obtained from looking on the field, it was the field itself that was his emotion, the true feelings a human felt were the trees; maybe they truly existed, but perhaps they were just a trick of the weak light.

He slipped off his shoes and kicked them under the seat. No one was around to see him. Who cared if he acted like a professional here? Certainly not the bag lady, the punk, the sleeping college student. He tilted his head back and let his eyes flutter shut. After all, his stop was hours away . . .

* * *

A crackling of static - perhaps because they were underground this time – shielded the conductor voice from human perception as the train juddered to a gradual halt. The doors slid open and air rushed in to the carriage. Numair say silhouettes and their tall thin shadows step into various compartments, but his remained free of any newcomer. It was, after all, the last on the train. A few guards strolled around the cement platform, their polished shoes tapping out sharp rhythms.

Fast foot beats pounded down the stairs. Slower, heavier ones followed behind. Silhouettes jolted into view. A figure – to judge by the long hair, a woman – was followed by three tall, thick people who were gaining speed. The woman leapt down the last few stairs, landing painfully one her left foot which twisted out from under her. Unhampered – _Was there too much at stake_? Numair wondered – she jumped up and hobbled as fast as she cold to the train. The two hefty beings caught up when she was just halfway to the train. One roughly grabbed her by her arms and the other began to beat her. Several guards ran over and tried to foil the attackers without hurting the woman. One guard tripped the puncher and, with the help of another guard, dragged him away from the fray. The woman watched this all with large panicked eyes as the remaining attacker twisted her arms farther into a painful pose. She curled out one foot and hit him in the shins. He yelped and grabbed that leg with one arm. She took the opportune moment and swung her hobo bag, hitting him in the back of the head. He let out another yelp and let go, him hands occupied with his injuries.

The train began to move away. By this time, all the members of the cart had their noses pressed against the windows.

The woman ran as fast as she could to the carriage. Numair saw her predicament and leapt out of his seat. He grunted with the effort of trying to open the door. The business man rushed over and, with surprisingly un-business-manlike strength, the two managed to slide open the door.

The woman was clearly in much pain, a cut above her eyebrow bleeding heavily, blinding her, the left ankle swollen to immense proportions. She pumped her arms by her side, trying to catch the train before it left. A square-ish object flew out from the open bag. She heard it fall behind her and craned her head back. For a moment, an eternal moment, she paused, torn between the train and the object.

A feral roar sounded. One of her attackers had broken free from the guards' restraint. He charged over with wild anger. She made her decision and bounded for the train. She took a flying leapt and . . . Numair saw no more. The train had entered the tunnel.

**Oooh, cliffie. Is it Daine? Is it Varice? Or someone else entirely? Or maybe this will just be a one-shot.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Numair is not mine . . . he's Daine's ;D**

Chapter 2

Numair felt the flimsy floor of the train carriage rise ever so slightly, as if the weight of something had suddenly landed. He glanced around the cart to see of anyone else had noticed. They hadn't.

The bag lady let out a heart-wrenching wail and began to sob, no tears running down her face. She covered her eyes with her hands and whimpered to herself, words fading in and out of human awareness. "Such a nice little girl . . . so much to do in the . . . oh . . . poor little girl . . ." She continued to sob as the other members of the train looked at each other, wondering what to do.

Numair slowly maneuvered his way to the back of the cart. He felt certain that something was happening outside. Was that footsteps pounding along the tracks or simply the whir of machinery? He leaned against the door, one hand casually resting on the handle. He pressed down and leaned back.

The door swung open. Numair lost his balance and tumbled outside. He sat down hard, landing on something . . . soft, but with a hard center. He looked down and found himself sitting on the woman.

She was sprawled out on the small platform, crushed up against the railing from the speed of the train. Her eye continued to bleed sluggishly. He breathing was shallow, ragged, but with the undertones of someone sleeping, or unconscious.

Numair jumped up and off her. He gently stood her up the way he might a baby: hand under her armpits. He placed one of her arms around his shoulders and held onto her hand. With his other arm around her waist, he walked her inside. The college student had come over to investigate. Numair transferred the woman to the student and went to shut the door.

He reached out to grab the handle. Turning away and pulling the door with him, he caught something with the tail of his eye. Was that a figure running along the tracks? Numair leaned out, squinting. The train turned a corner and Numair found himself staring at a wall. Shaking his head at his own folly, he shut the door.

The bag lady had stopped screeching at the sight of the bloodied, bruised lady in the cart. On the contrary, she was now cackling gleefully, muttering to herself, eyes shining.

The college student had laid down the lady on the aisle. She beckoned Numair over and had him sit Lotus-position, with the patient's head in his lap.

She set about checking her for major injuries. Numair stared at her until she looked up.

"Mm? Yes?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"Not yet. I'm just training still. Look, will you calm her down? Even unconscious, she's still all tensed up."

"Uh, sure. What exactly should I be doing?"

"Stroke her hair; make some peaceful, relaxing sounds, like such." She crooned gently, a low, soft hum.

Numair did just that, wary to stay away from the injured side of the lady's head. He felt her relax, and the doctor's encouraging smile directed his way. She finished her evaluation and pushed herself into a crouch.

"It's worse than it looks. Unless you're family," Numair shook his head. "Or a significant other," Another headshake. "Then I'm not liable to release any information on her condition. She'll definitely need to go to the hospital. According to her hand," The doctor picked up the limp right hand and showed Numair the spidery writing on the back "She's headed over to L'espoir Perdu." She lowered her voice. Numair bent close to hear. "Think anyone else is going that way? And I don't want to just dump her off on some . . ." she glanced around the cart, eyes resting on the bag lady.

Numair nodded slightly. The whole exchange between them seemed secret, for some unknown reason. He went along with it. "I'm headed there myself."

The doctor looked infinitely relieved. "Thank the lord. Listen, I've no idea what the situation is, but if there's any problem, you know, with hospital bills or something, just call me." She grabbed his hand and wrote her number on the back. Smiling at him, she stood up. She began to walk back to her seat, hips moving in a hypnotic sway. She paused and rotated slightly, looking at Numair, the curve of her breasts easily visible and accented. "On second thought, why don't you just call me?" She flashed him a white grin against her dark skin and strolled to her seat.

Numair thought that the scene was pretty smooth on the doctor's part, until he remembered the woman lying on the floor. Anyway, the doctor was not his kind of woman. He assisted the unconscious lady up, and walked her over, placing her gently in the seat next to his.

* * *

A few hours later, the setting moon saw Numair leave the local hospital. He looked dark, threatening in the partial light, but anyone who knew him, or who dared to get close enough could plainly see the ache of loneliness, pain and longing in his deep, thoughtful eyes.

* * *

The phone jangled and Numair jumped to his feet. Embarrassed at his eagerness, he walked into the kitchen at got a glass of water. He sat down on the counter stools and sipped the frosty beverage as he counted out one . . . two more rings. Then, as casually and as indifferently as you please, he strolled over and picked up the phone.

"Hullo?"

"Master Salmalin? This is Nurse Betty, from the Hope Hospital?"

"Oh, yes,"

"We need you to come over and sign some forms."

"Wait! See, the thing is –" But the nurse had already hung up.

Numair sighed and sat down, head resting on the counter. Last night he had told a story of visiting a friend only to find her in such a condition. He now knew what a "web of lies" was, and he was dreadfully stuck in the middle of one. He could go over and tell the truth, but then he may be seen as a threatening figure, perhaps the blame for the lady's condition would be placed upon him. Or he could go over in hopes that the woman was now awake and could help him fill out the forms. Clearly, though, she was not, or else the nurse would have had her fill out the forms herself. He sighed again. Was life ever simple?

His mind was already made up. He'd go over and if she was not awake, would leave remembering an "important" appointment that could not be avoided. Pulling on his coat and beanie, he locked his door.

* * *

Numair hitched a trolley over to the hospital. The ride was uneventful, apart form his almost falling asleep from the gentle jostling, the effect of a sleepless night. His eyelids drooped and shut only to snap open, over and over. He heard a squeal of brakes, but it took a long time for it to register in his brain that perhaps this was his stop. Nearly too late, he jumped up and nimbly of, stumbling a bit as he landed.

* * *

Numair waited patiently outside room 415 in the "intensive care" wing. He had peered in moments earlier only to find a nurse bustling around. Unsure of what to do, he hovered awkwardly outside until the nurse exited.

"Excuse me?" she turned her gaze on him. "I was asked to sign some forms on account of my, uh, my friend . . . in there." He gestured with his thumb towards the room.

"Oh yes, right this way sir." She lead him up to a desk and, after a few whispered words with a rather ferocious looking nurse, handed Numair some forms attached to a clipboard. He walked back to room 415 and sat in a chair placed beside the patient's bed. Perhaps it was the clockwork way the hospital worked, or maybe the boring forms but combined with the previous sleepless night, Numair soon fell asleep.

* * *

Numair felt someone looking at him. Pretending to sleep, he shifted position and cracked one eyelid open. The woman on the hospital bed was looking at him. She stretched, yawning loudly. Numair took his cue and shook himself "awake." Their eyes met for a brief moment, and quickly looked away.

"Hey,"

She glanced at him, acknowledging his presence.

"Um, I was on this train last night, and then you came one it too. You were pretty injured, so I took you to this hospital. I was heading in that direction, see. So this morning the nurse called me so I could come over and fill out some forms. I told her that you were a friend and I went to visited you last night and saw you were injured." Numair paused, knowing the tale jumped all over the place.

"Thanks," she replied in a barely audible whisper, eyes cast down in embarrassment.

"Could you, ah, help me fill out these forms?"

"Sure,"

Together, they worked quietly for a quarter of an hour, hunched over the papers.

"Veralidaine –"

"Daine, please,"

"Next is how you got injured, Daine,"

She looked down and her sheets, embarrassed.

"Daine?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get injured? I was there, I saw it, but the hospital will want to know why what happened did,"

She mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"I don't remember,"

"Okay, well. You were rushing to get on the train and these men were following you. When they caught up, they began to beat you. Guards rushed over and tried to help you. You managed to break away and ran for the train. You jumped for it and landed on the back platform. By the time I found you out there, you weren't conscious. A young doctor cleaned you up a bit then I took you to this hospital."

She was staring it him. "That didn't happen. It couldn't have." She sounded lost.

Numair didn't know what to do. Perhaps she had been hit too hard. Maybe it was too much blood loss. Maybe she didn't want to remember. He looked at his hands helplessly for a moment. Daine gasped. His sight was on her now.

She fell back against the pillow, body twitching. He eyes were wide and vacant. He stood up fast, clipboard falling with a clatter to the linoleum. She gasped again, then turned her haunted look on Numair.

"Numair," she said in a voice like hers, but with a tinge of something . . . something Numair could not find a name for. "Listen to me. I don't think there will be another relapse of my memory, so what I have to say is vital." Her body convulsed once more. She reached out shaking hands and grabbed his. "They're here. I need to leave you now. What you need will come to you. Use it wisely," With that, Daine convulsed once more and fell back against her pillow.

**On top of cloud 9 – Thanks for being the first reviewer!**

**warrior of tortall – Thank you! I admit, that thing about the oneshot was a (failed) attempt to get more reviews.**

**SpectralLady – Thanks for commenting!**

**Imshi – My **_Charred Pages at the Sunshine Cafe_**? Or my **_Conflicting Hues of the Broken Souls_**? Either way, thanks for the compliment!**


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